


Flowers for Stark

by Jammit_Sammy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agender Character, Amputee, Aromantic Asexual Natasha Romanov, Bad Obadiah Stane, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Depression, Dog Tags, Fluff, Genderfluid Bucky, Happy Ending, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marine Bucky, Marine Corps, Non-Binary Tony, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Talk of War, This gets Angsty, United States Marines, War wounds, depressed character, talk of depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 11:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jammit_Sammy/pseuds/Jammit_Sammy
Summary: An ex-Marine with a missing arm owns this cute little flower shop. His ex-Army buddy owns the gym down the road. The famous Tony Stark owns the garage across the street, but no one knows it's him. Natasha runs that business with an iron fist, so Tony doesn't have to. And Clint teaches children gymnastics.Everyone is kinda queer.





	Flowers for Stark

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write this for a year now. I promise I'll be updating my other fic soon.  
> I want to make it clear that I have PTSD, but I'm aware everyone experiences it differently. Bucky's reactions and problems are based on myself and my father.

Blue eyes stared sullenly at the shattered vase on the ground. The morning had been going great, until a loose grip and residual water caused the ceramic to fall to its untimely death. James Barnes was tired. He had no clue how his life had gotten to this point. Except, he kinda did.  
  
Two years after being medically discharged from the Marine Corps, and he was finally getting his life together. He and Steve had moved back to Brooklyn, opening their respective businesses with the money they had managed to save while they were enlisted. Bucky’s savings, truth be told, had been greatly diminished due to hospital bills and physical therapy. The government only payed for so much, and being armless was slightly more than an inconvenience. Either way, he was doing his best, and Steve was a giant help.  
  
Before Steve headed off to work at the gym, which was a five minute walk from the shop, he would help Bucky make the flower arrangements they always had on hand. The custom arrangements, though, Bucky had to make those as they came in. Which was a struggle, everyday, for the past six months that Bucky had been open. Semper Fi Blooms was popular among active and retired service members. Something about knowing they were supporting a local veteran really seemed to make people happy. Bucky didn’t have a problem with that. He loved his community, and business was always needed. What wasn’t so appreciated, was the women who come in and out of his store, flirting non-stop, and getting petty when he didn’t reciprocate. That just wasn’t his thing, dating customers.  
  
Sighing, Bucky walked around the counter to retrieve the broom. He swept up what he could, wincing at the way the water made all the little glass pieces stick to the broom. He’d have to beat it on the wall out back until the shards fell out. Fun. He was just bending down to clean up the water when the shop bell rang. Fuck, he couldn’t help them right at this moment, and it wasn’t like he had the money to pay any extra help.  
  
He continued to clean up, assuming the person would either leave, or wait. The water was a safety hazard, and he didn’t need a broken back along with a missing arm. That would just suck. Sopping wet towels in hand, Bucky went into the back room to drop them in the dirty clothes hamper and went back out to greet the customer. Bucky was slightly shocked to see a guy with a shock of purple hair, with a blonde undercut. The man was built well, like a gymnast, with tattoos covering all visible patches of skin. That wasn’t unusual. Heck, Bucky had almost as many tattoos as this guy, and several more piercings. No, the tattoos weren’t what was odd. The odd thing was the way the man seemed very at home, casually inspecting a carnation assortment and rearranging the display.  
  
Apparently sensing his presence, the man started speaking. “These colors clash, the way you have them set up. I took the liberty of rearranging. Much more aesthetically pleasing.”  
  
And Bucky, against his will, had to agree. Steve had set up the display this morning, and for an artist, he couldn’t color scheme to save his life. Not when it came to clothes or flowers. Give him a canvas, and the man could work magic. Anywhere else? Steve Rogers was a tragedy.  
  
Bucky grunted in acknowledgment, going to cross his arms and remembering that yeah, that wasn’t a thing he could do anymore. He ignored the phantom pain in his arm and the very real pain in his heart. No one knew how much they took being whole for granted, until they weren’t anymore.  
  
The man turned to shoot Bucky a brilliant smile and Bucky found himself wanting to trust this guy. Which was an immediate red flag, putting up Bucky’s proverbial hackles. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said gruffly.  
  
“Anytime, really. I just came around to check out the new guys. You and that guy down the street.” Clint picked up a bouquet of miniature succulents and Limonium. It was a new product he was trying. It was very popular with the hipster types, and most memorably, a woman who called herself a garden witch.  
  
Bucky eyed him a minute. “You plan on buying that?”  
  
The man laughed brightly. “Nah man. I’m just impressed that you’ve managed to do all of this with one arm.”  
  
Stiffening, Bucky reeled his thoughts back in. No one ever mentioned the arm, or lack thereof, so blatantly. Most people asked awkward, stilted questions, or tried to ignore that it was gone altogether. The easy with which this man spoke of it boosted Bucky’s opinion of him, and he held out a hand.  
  
“James Barnes. Welcome to my shop.”  
  
The man shook his proffered hand, grip strong and sure. “Clint Barton. I love the place.”  
  
That was just such an odd response that Bucky had to laugh. “Well, you’re welcome to swing by and help whenever you like,” Bucky joked.  
  
Clint seemed to take it seriously though, nodding and walking towards the counter. “So, any arrangements need making up?”  
  
Bucky gaped unattractively for a moment, stunned. Bucky had just invited him to help, but it was more of a joke.  
  
“I can’t pay you legally. I don’t have the funds to claim employees,” he trailed awkwardly after Clint, watching as the man invaded his workspace.  
  
“Oh that’s fine. The blonde muscle mass down the road hired me. I’m the gymnastics coach now. Working with children.” He paused like this was the first time he was processing this. “Huh.”  
  
Bucky felt his mouth lift at the corner, trying to pull into a smile. “Well, I’ve got about six orders to make up for the day. If you want to stick around and help.”  
  
“’Course man!” Clint exclaimed, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.  
  


  
  
  
  
Two weeks later, Bucky and Clint were laying on the floor behind the counter, surrounded by fallen petals and stem cuttings. Luckily, there were no rose orders today. Otherwise, their situation would be infinitely more painful.  
  
Over the time Clint had been working with Bucky, they had bonded. Clint was loud, obnoxious, and a little unreliable, but that was to expected from a guy who worked three jobs, one of which he wasn’t even paying paid to do. Bucky actually felt bad for not being able to pay him, so he provided Clint meals while he was there.  
  
It was another slow day, Bucky had been having quite a few of those lately. Which was worrying, but he would pull through. He had faith in his shop and community. But, since there were no customers, they had some down time.  
  
They were debating the merits of a dragon that breathes ice, rather than fire, when the bell above the door chimed. Bucky grunted loudly, but Clint was up and on his feet in seconds. “Hello. How can I help you?”  
  
“I’m looking for the knucklehead who owns this place,” said a brash, British voice.

Bucky shot up from his sitting position, over balancing and falling right back onto his butt. Clint burst out laughing, not even bothering to help Bucky up.

“Peg! What are you doing in town?” Bucky scrambled up into a standing position, posture rigid out of habit.

“At ease,” Peggy laughed.

Bucky slumped, leaning over on the counter. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Carter.”

She simply patted his hand and smiled. “I’m here to pick up the order for Sousa.”

Bucky waggled his eyebrows, going to the cooler to collect the arrangement. From the back he called, “That your new fella?”

When he came back, Peggy was blushing.

Bucky smiled fondly at that. Peggy and Steve had been together for a short time, but they realized they were better off as friends. Something had happened there, Bucky knew, but neither of them wanted to tell him and he wasn’t inclined to push. Whatever happened, that was their business. He didn’t much need to know about Stevie’s sex and romantic life anyways. Unless, miraculously, it somehow involved him. Which wasn’t likely to happen, considering his Stevie was about as straight as they come, and awkward as a foal learning to walk.  

His face must have done something funny as he was thinking, because Peggy gave him a knowing smile. He really, really hated that smile. It meant she knew something he didn’t. Before he could ask about it, though, she patted his cheek and kissed his nose.

“I’ve missed you Bucky. It’s not the same without you.”

With a sad smile, Bucky rang her up and accepted her money. He handed back the change, waved goodbye, and headed into the back room. There Clint was sticking spit balls to the wall in a perfect circle. If he weren’t so exhausted all of the sudden, he would be disgusted.

“That was our last order, and I’m beat. We’re closing early today.”

If Clint noticed the haunted look in Bucky’s eyes, he didn’t say anything. If he knew that they really couldn’t afford to close early, he kept that to himself too.

After Clint left, Bucky stayed just long enough to clean and lock up. After that, he was out the door and headed directly to the gym. One thing that could always get his mind off of things was physical activity.

When he walked into the gym though, Steve spotted him and immediately started shaking his head. “Nope. You are going to wait in my office, and then we are going home. None of this bull today, Barnes. You look like shit.”

Not even bothering to fight, which was probably even more worrying for Steve, Bucky trudged to the small office that Steve occupied, as head of the gym. He sat in the spinning chair, turning in half-hearted circles and staring blankly at the walls. PTSD was a very real problem that Bucky dealt with. Some days it was hard not to see the battlefield in every small thing. This wasn’t that, though. This was plain old depression. More often than not, he just couldn’t cope. With the loss of his arm, the loss of his career, the loss of most of his friends. It was hard, especially because he had loved being a marine. Loved it just as much as Steve had loved being a Captain in the army. And wasn’t that a kicker. Steve had left the army for him. To move back to Brooklyn, once again living on barely enough money, with no one but each other. Bucky always felt that Steve would eventually come to regret it. Come to resent Bucky. He was honestly just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For now though, Bucky would continue to cling to Steve, and their small apartment. Their little life they’d made in Brooklyn. Just the two of them against the world.

While Bucky was thinking, not wallowing, Steve came into the office. He observed Bucky, unnoticed for a moment. He knew his best friend hadn’t been doing well lately, but something must have set him off, because this was bad. It was days like this that Steve wanted to wrap him up and shower him in kisses. He didn’t have the privilege to do both, but he sure as hell could do one. Which is why he cleared his throat, moving to grab his things and get out. He had already locked up, the cleaning could wait for tomorrow. Right now, Bucky needed him.

They made their way out of the gym, to Steve’s bike. Steve mounted, Bucky climbing on behind him and clinging to his waist. Steve would never admit, but their rides to and from work were his favorite part of the day. The feeling of Bucky, warm against his back a stark contrast to the biting wind as he rode. The calming silence. It was amazing.

He couldn’t enjoy the ride as much, at the moment, because he was too worried about Bucky. The bad days were a constant, when he first came back without an arm. Steve had thought they were getting better though. And lately, Bucky had seemed happier, with their new shared employee. Something was wrong though, and Bucky wasn’t telling him. That was okay. He didn’t need to know why in order to be there for him.

At the apartment, Steve dismounted and helped Bucky down. He stowed the helmets in his little hatch, and led Bucky up the rickety old stairs to their floor. Wiggling the knob and banging just above the latch got the door unlocked and open. Then he led Bucky into the living room, depositing him on the couch and turning on M.A.S.H. That show was Bucky’s guilty pleasure, and Steve was willing to indulge him.

The big blonde moved into the kitchen, heating up the chicken noodle soup he had made last week. He poured it into a bowl, grabbed a spoon and a Pepsi, and brought it out to Bucky. Steve watched as Bucky absently ate the food, and drank his soda. Even though he seemed out of it, at least he was eating. All Steve could do now was be there. He swaddled Bucky in blankets, pulling his best friend to his chest, and laid them down on the couch. Not long after, Bucky was snoring lightly, turning over to bury his face in Steve’s sternum. Steve smiled softly, allowing his eyes to slip closed so he could drift into sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please come scream at me on my tumblr Goldenageofespionage.


End file.
